


Famine Etiquette

by orphan_account



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, begins shortly after the first series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-08 07:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4295769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They tell Sasaki that he used to be a monster, but he can learn to be human.<br/>He's had minimal success so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 He dreams of a feast, of vulnerable flesh, dreams of cracking bone. When he wakes up he thinks the name _Hide._

“Haise Sasaki.”

            He blinks, sluggishly. Flexes his fingers, twitches his toes.  He exhales, inhales, and the acrid air makes him hack into the mask over his mouth.

            “Careful, Sasaki.” Someone touches his shoulder. He blinks up. A doctor is smiling down at him.

            “Hello there. My name is Dr. Takada. How are you feeling?”

            She takes pity on him and reaches up, removing the mask. The air tastes clean and sterile. He makes a "hnghhh," sound. 

            That makes her only smile wider. She’s middle-aged and pretty, and smells good, like savory perfume. He stares up at her, trying to parse reality from the blurry vestiges of his dream.

            “Any issues? Here.” She holds her hands in front of him. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

            “Six,” he croaks.

            “Good. And your name?”

            “I – I don’t-“

            “Your name is Haise Sasaki. You’re recovering from an accident.”

            His head throbs. “Is Hide okay?” he says.

            “What?” she says. “Can you repeat that?”

            He tries to think, but his head hurts so badly. “Don’t know,” he mumbles. “Takada. I was in an accident? What happened?”

            “You were attacked,” she says, “but you’ve been through surgery, and you’ve made a good recovery.”

            “I can’t remember anything,” he says, and he realizes he’s starting to panic. “Doctor. I can’t remember my name.”

            “It’s Haise Sasaki.”

            He rests his head back against the pillow. “Okay,” Sasaki says.

            “We believe the damage done to your brain may have given you partial amnesia. It’s likely you’ll have fleeting memories of your personal history. Try not worry about it. They might come back.”

            “Amnesia,” he rasps. It’s too much. He shakes his head, but it hurts so badly he has to stop. He’s throbbing all the way through his body. “Doctor,” he says.

            “Yes, Sasaki?”

            “I’m really hungry,” he says.

            There’s something in her eyes. He tries to smile weakly at her. “Hungry enough for a tray of terrible hospital food, even,” he says, trying to get her to laugh.

            She cringes visibly. “Sasaki,” she says. “Do you not know what you are?”

            “What?” he says.

            She leaves with a mumbling excuse.

            He tries to relax, to ignore the churning in his stomach.  He closes his eyes, and tries to remember something, anything. He remembers movie plotlines, he remembers mathematic equations and chemistry formulas, he can recall the taste of hamburger meat and melting ice cream. But he can’t remember studying formulas, he can’t remember going to the theater with friends, and he can’t recall eating.

            He looks up at the ceiling again, and this time he notices the camera in the corner of the room, light reflecting off the lens surface. Someone’s watching him.

            His fingers curl, fisting the sheets.

            Sometime later, Takada returns with a stranger in a suit, carrying a briefcase. The stranger in the suit is Special Class investigator Arima. Takada’s carrying a tray and on the tray is a small metal cooler.

            “Investigator?” Sasaki says. “Investigating what?” He’s managed to sit up, and now he’s rubbing his head. With the arrival of the new person, the scent in the room is overpowering. He subconsciously picks out two pounding rhythms. Heartbeats, he thinks to himself.

            “Is this about the attack I suffered?” he says. “Because I can’t remember anything at all.”

            Arima glances at Takada.

            “Arima isn’t here to investigate you. He’s here for . . . protection.”

            “Protection?” He swallows. “If everything okay?”

            “We hope so. You suffered awfully from your injuries. There’s a good chance you’ll be unstable.”

            “I’ll get sick?”

            “We’re not sure.” She sits next to him, and bites her lip. She won’t meet his gaze. “Sasaki, you need to have a special diet while you’re recovering. Understand?”

            He nods. “I’d eat anything right now.”

            Her face is pale. “It might seem a little odd, but just bear with me.”

            “Okay.”

 He smiles at her, trying to reassure her. She looks like she’s going to throw up.

            She sets the tray on his lap, and opens the cooler.

            Inside is something wrapped in brown paper. His stomach rumbles. He reaches into the cooler, and unwraps the paper, revealing a slab of slimy raw meat.

            “Is this a joke?” he says, glancing up at Takada. 

            She holds her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I have to go.” She flees the room, slamming it shut behind her.

            “Is she okay?” he asks Arima. 

            “You need to eat, Sasaki,” Arima says. His voice is very soft, and reassuring. Sasaki blinks at him.

            “I can’t just eat this,” he says, and tries to smile again. “Can’t I just have some rice or something?”

            Arima says nothing.

            He stares down at the raw meat. His stomach rumbles again.

            “What happened to me?” he whispers.

            He picks up the meat. It is cold to the touch, and hard. He digs his fingernails into the flesh, and he rips off a chunk, and takes a bite.

            Arima doesn’t move. His expression is very gentle.

            His hunger takes over. He eats almost too fast, stuffing the cold meat into his mouth. He eats it all, and wishes he had more.

 

 #

 

            It doesn’t take long for him to realize there’s something very wrong with him, that all the doctors know it, too.  He knows it isn’t normal to hear heartbeats, to hear voices and footsteps in the hallway, to hear blood rushing. He discovers a metal anklet locked around his right ankle, cool and heavy, and no one will tell it’s why its there.

            He’s very weak. His muscles haven’t been used in a while, Doctor Takada explains the next morning when she checks in to see how he’s doing. He was in a coma for about three weeks. She has him breathe into the oxygen mask for about two hours, inhaling the acrid, foul air. She explains that it’s important for his recuperation, but the strange air just makes him sluggish again, makes his hearing and sense of smell dull.

When a nurse helps him to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth, all of the other patients are in their rooms, and they’re the only two in the halls. The nurse doesn’t talk much to him, doesn’t look at him at all. He notices cameras wherever he goes.

            Arima brings him another cooler that night. Inside is another slab of raw meat. Sasaki stares at it for a moment, doesn’t take it out.

            “What’s going on?” he says quietly. “This isn’t normal. I know that much.”

            Arima shakes his head. “We’ll explain later. Just eat now.”

            “I need to know if there’s something wrong. I’m going crazy here.” He clenches the sheets.  “Am I dying?”

            “You’re not going to die. Just eat, Sasaki.”

            “I won’t eat until I have answers!”

            “Sasaki!” Arima looks he’s in pain. “You won’t want to eat after you know.”

            Sasaki curls up against his pillow. “What kind of meat is it?” he whispers.

            Arima takes the tray and puts it on the empty chair next to him.

            “Sasaki?” he says. “Do you know what a ghoul is?”

            Sasaki thinks for a moment. “They’re monsters,” he says. “They eat humans – oh! Was I attacked by a ghoul?”

            “No,” Arima says. He looks down, pushes up his glasses, looks back up. “It was me who attacked you.”       

            Sasaki stares at him for a long moment. He wants to play it off as a joke, but Arima’s dark gaze meets his, and he can barely breathe. 

            “Why – why did-“

            “About six months ago, you suffered a life-threatening accident and were rushed to a hospital, along with a girl who died in the accident. You were in critical condition and the doctors transplanted her organs into you. The girl was a ghoul. The transplanted organs changed you permanently, giving you many qualities of a ghoul, including their diet. The Commission of Counter Ghoul had heard of the surgery, but we were unable to locate you. Then I encountered you during a recent raid on a ghoul hideout. You were afraid for your life and the lives of the other ghouls, and I was forced to wound you greatly. I stabbed you through the brain, stabbed through both your eyes.”

            His head is throbbing again, the hollows of his eyes nearly burning. “I’m a ghoul?” he demands.  

            “You’re half a ghoul,” Arima says. He pauses. “You’re half human, too.”

            Sasaki bends over and vomits onto the floor. He heaves up little chunks and bile, but most of last night’s meal is already digested.

            “You fed me-“ he sobs out. “How could you-“

            “Your recovery is slow, and your body is still healing. There’s no guarantee you’ll heal completely. The doctors believed your natural diet would be the most beneficial at this point.”

            He’s shaking. “I – I can’t-“

            “If it’s too much, we can give you the synthesized meat,” Arima says gently.

            He shakes his head. Tears roll down his cheeks. “Did I kill anyone?” he whispers. “Before? Did I _eat_ anyone?” _Hide_ , he thinks again, and he doesn’t know why.

            “We don’t believe so. Your ghoul persona was reported to never kill.”

            “But you don’t know.”

            “Not for sure.”

            He can still smell the cold meat in the cooler. Tonight’s dinner. His stomach is growling again. He wipes his mouth and tries to sit up straighter.

            “You should’ve killed me,” he says.

            Arima doesn’t say anything.

            “Why didn’t you kill me?”

            “What happened to you was a horrible tragedy,” Arima says, again, very gently. “You were just a normal human before all of this, Sasaki. You were a college student. A literature major. You didn’t deserve any of this. I defeated you in battle, so I had claim on you, on what to do with you. My superiors and I decided to give you a second chance.”

            He can hear Arima’s heartbeat, very wet and very loud. He bites his lips. 

            “You’re sure I didn’t kill anyone?” he whispers.

            Arima’s eyes are smiling. He reaches out and takes Sasaki’s hand.

            “The surgery you underwent, it changed you irreparably,” he says. “But we’ll help you survive it. Turn it into something useful.”

#

 

             That night he dreams of a huge underground tunnel, the stench of blood in the air.

             In the dream he’s fighting Arima, and Arima’s winning. Stabbing through him again and again with that strange weapon, and Sasaki’s powerless to stop him. It’s a dream, so he can’t scream, can only make choked noises. The pain in his eyes makes him wake up.

             Can’t trust him, he thinks. They all want to kill you. You and yours. He gets impressions of a woman his own age, a girl in her early teens, an older man, and then those impressions are gone. He can’t even remember their faces.

             He’s covered in sweat, the hospital room suffocating.

            Gotta kill them, he thinks. Gotta kill them first, before they can come after your people.

            He swallows hard. He can trust Arima. Arima saved him by stabbing his eyes out, saved him from being a monster.

             It’s all right.

           He lies down, and stares up at the ceiling. As the last of the dream fades away, he forgets all about the people he wants to protect, but fear stays heavy in his throat.

            He listens to the world around him. A fan rotates in the distance. Something electrical hums. A pair of doctors discuss something quietly. He counts the heartbeats in the nearby rooms, counts them again. His stomach aches. He’s still so goddamn hungry.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some references to drug use, sex under the influence (nothing graphic), and some self-destructive behavior.  
> There are also some references to religion, but they're included for plot reasons only, and I tried to write them as neutrally as possible.

 

The plastic bags are digging into Sasaki’s palms, he’s sticky with sweat in his collared shirt, and he’s tired and hungry the way he always is. Then he sees a flash of dyed blond hair and a pointed, familiar profile, and he goes numb all over, the adrenaline so sharp and painful he stops breathing.

The blond man turns the corner, and Sasaki is hurrying after him without even thinking about it, twisting the handles of the plastic bags over his wrists. His purchases bang against his legs as he follows the blond man.

            The sidewalk is crowded, and the pedestrians in his path make him panic, his throat closing up. _I’m loosing sight of him_ , he thinks. _I’m going to loose him_. He picks up his pace, elbowing people by accident.

            The blond man is crossing the street, and Sasaki, in panic, rushes into the traffic. Tires squeal, a driver shouts at him. Sasaki ducks around the bumper of the taxi and reaches the opposite sidewalk a second after the blond man.

            “Hey!” he gasps. _“Hey!”_

            The blond man turns back and – oh. His face is too lined, his eyes a little widely spaced, his mouth too thin. He’s in his late twenties, with crooked teeth. _Not him,_ Sasaki thinks, and he doesn’t know who he expected to find.

            “Can I help you?” the blond man says.

            Sasaki shakes his head. Even after the blond man leaves, he’s still out of breath, and his heart is beating so fast. He untwists the bags around his wrists, and shakes his hands, letting the blood flow back into his fingers.

            His phone rings. He answers it without checking the caller ID.

            “You all right?” Akira says, sounding impatient. “You’ve been out for a while.”

            He gulps air, says. “Yes. I’m not used to the store yet. Took me a while to find stuff.”

            “I want to head out before four.”

            “I got it.” He hangs up.

            It’s about twenty minutes walk back to CCG branch office of the 13th ward, and he’s even sweatier and grosser by the time he walks through the huge glass doors. He’s anxious as he walks through the RC detectors, even though they never go off for him.

            He lives on the fourth floor. There’s a whole hallway full of one-bedroom apartments. It’s like a real apartment building, and homey enough, he guesses. He knows his neighbors by sight, all other CCG investigators who have trouble finding housing due to accessibility needs or some other disruption in their lives.

It’s easy to ignore that he has to sign in and out of the building, that he has to be back at 10PM on the dot or the metal band around his ankle will inject him full of RC suppressants and sedatives and an alarm will go off, that there are cameras over his door and in his living room. 

            Akira sends him an aggressive text but it’s only three PM, so he drops his groceries on the counter of his cramped kitchen and fishes out the shampoo and bar soap.

He feels strangely triumphant as he gets into the shower. He’s been surviving off the soap the previous tenant left under the sink even since he moved in four days ago. He bought the cheapest brand he could find, but even so he likes having his own stuff. It makes him feel sort of like a real person.

Akira knocks on his door just as he’s buttoning up a clean shirt. She’s as expressionless and rigid, the same she’s been ever since he met her a few weeks ago. “You ready to go?” she says.          

“One second.”

His quinque’s in the briefcase on the kitchen table, right where he left it after training this morning.

They take Akira’s car, a slim black foreign model, and for some reason she listens to very loud classical music as she drives. He tries not to glance at her nervously as he reads over the case files one more time. He’s pretty sure Akira doesn’t like him, or is at least wary of him.

            The Priest made the news a three months when the police found the first gutted body left under the bridge. There’d been six more bodies since then but up until recently the murders were theorized to be the work of a human. Only the last body, found two days ago in a classroom in Kokugakuin University, contained traces of Kagune.

The victims were all different ages, different genders, different socio-economic classes. There was nothing connecting them other than what the murderer left behind: candles lit in circle around the bodies, the coins over the eyes, and a bible verse left like an apology, the number smeared on the floor in the victim’s own blood. ROM 3:23. EPH 2:8. Religious experts were brought in, but no one could figure out the connection.

Sasaki looks over the crime scene photos from the most recent victim, Watanabe Haruka. She’d been a graphic design major, a cashier at night. Her boyfriend’s interview with the police was long and convoluted and emotional. He reads over it, then looks at the pictures of her crime scene photos. Philippians 4:8 is smeared in blood right next to her ear. He’s not familiar with the verse.

He looks at her student ID photos. She’d been beautiful once. His stomach turns over.

“We’re almost there,” Akira says. “You don’t have to talk much if you don’t want to. Just stay calm.”

Sasaki nods. They’d discussed their plan the night before, and then again this morning during training. The only other thing the victims had in common was the location and the timing. All the victims had disappeared near or in Higashi, and all of the victims had died between the hours of 6AM and 2PM.

The police had very few leads, but Sasaki and Akira decided the ghoul had a night shift. It seemed obvious once they discussed it. The earning morning time frame was a difficult one to commit murders, since people were running around at their jobs and lives. The only reason a ghoul would act at such a time was necessity.

            If their ghoul had a job, it was trying to blend in with humans. It mostly likely had an apartment, paid bills, and lived under a name with a family register.

It seemed like an easy job to Sasaki, especially to such a well-recognized investigator as Akira, but he figured that was why she accepted the job. It was their first real investigation together since they’d been assigned to work with each other. She wanted to help him get his feet wet.

            Akira manages to find parking in front of the Electric Blue nightclub. The glowing neon signs aren’t on yet, but the door is unlocked, and there are a couple people running around inside, sweeping the floors and wiping down the windows.

            Akira waits very patiently. It only takes a few seconds for a cocktail waitress to slink over to them.

            “Can I help you?” she asks. 

            “I’d like to talk to the manager.”

            The timid little cocktail waitress leads them to the back office. The manager’s a greying old man with a polka-dot tie, chewing his lip as he flips through stacks of forms. He starts a little when he sees Akira.

            “Police?” he says.

            She shows him her badge. “Mado Akira and Haise Sasaki. CCG. We’d like to talk to you.”

            He stands up, setting the forms on his desk. “Let me get you a drink.”

            “We’re on the clock.”

            He leads them over to the bar, anyway. The bartender looks nervous, averts Sasaki’s gaze as she methodically wipes down glasses.

            “Is everything all right, investigators?” the bartender asks.

            “Hopefully,” Akira says shortly. “We’re chasing down a few leads and we were hoping to look at your employee registry.  The bars around here all close at four and five AM, and we have reason to believe our suspect might work at one of them.”

            “I don’t know if I can give you the employee list without just cause,” he says.

            “I think you can.” Akira stares him down.

            He sighs. Takes his glasses off and starts to fiddle with them. “Ms. Mado, many of the employees here _do_ have something to hide. I have people with prior arrests for prostitution and drug use, I have undocumented immigrants who don’t want to talk to the police. It’s not your department, but surely you’ve noticed the kind of neighborhood we’re in. I have my staff to look after.”

            Akira doesn’t lower her chin. “You just don’t want to get in trouble for paying employees under the table.”

            “I’m reluctant to give you the list, Ms. Mado.”

            She tips her head.

            “You don’t think a ghoul could be working for you?”

            “I think I would have noticed,” he says.

            She scoffs. “You don’t know anything about ghouls, then. They’re so very good at playing human. You think they’d be showing up with blood on their teeth? They could be in this building right now and you wouldn’t even notice. They’re not all monster, not all the time. They talk and smile just like us. The differences are small, more difficult to pick out. They avoid meal times, they keep odd hours and have a lot of odd friends. They won’t talk about their past much. Sound like anyone you know?”

            He meets her gaze squarely. Then, finally, he says. “I won’t give you information about people who currently work here. Not unless you come back with a court order. I can’t betray their trust like that. But we have a high turnover rate. A lot of people coming and going. I can give you some of the recent employees who aren’t here anymore.”

            “That would be a great.” Akira stares at him until he gets up to go back to his office.

            “Think he’s a ghoul?” Akira murmurs to Sasaki.

            He’s so surprised he has to blink and think for a second to process her question. “No.” He hesitates. “He – he seemed.”

            He’s met ghouls before, in Cochlea.

            “He smelled good,” he murmurs finally. “We were up close to him. Ghouls never smell that appetizing.”

            She looks him over, considering. Then she says, “You’re doing fine, you know.”

            “I haven’t done anything at all,” he says in confusion.

            She cracks a smile. “And it’s going fantastic.”

            He thinks she’s being funny and he smiles back, tentatively. The manager returns and hands them a manila folder.

            They go around to every bar and late night café in the neighborhood. They even hit up a construction company to see what their night hours are. Most of the places are amicable enough about giving out employee lists. No one likes to fuck around with the CCG. Sasaki doesn’t like relying on his ghoul senses, but he does look around a lot, listening intensely, trying to figure out if there’s some monster lurking in human skin. His heightened senses aren’t pronounced unless adrenaline’s in his veins, and he struggles to sort through the smells.

            When the daylight starts to fade, they get back into Akira’s car and she drives while he looks over the list, emailing photos of them back to headquarters to get any paperwork they have on employees. They have over three hundred names, and even when headquarters starts emailing back information, none of it connects.

            He looks at Watanabe Haruka’s student ID picture again. She looks very young. He looks at the crime scene photos of her.

            “I wonder what all the religious stuff is for,” he says.

            Akira shrugs, her focus on the road. “Satanist, maybe?”

            “Maybe.” He looks back at the list of potential names. “Hey, Akira?”

            “What?”

            “Seven bodies in three months is kind of a lot, right?”

            “For one ghoul, yeah. It’s strange. I’m thinking possible connection to the Aogori tree, but they’ve no recorded religious affiliation.”

            “I think they have a kid,” he says.

            She blinks at him. “What?”

            “With the number of bodies, it makes sense. The latest someone was killed was at two, right? It’s such an odd time. But it’s the time the elementary schools are let out around here. They get the meal, but then they have to pick up their kid from school and watch them at two. The child’s probably very young.”

            She’s still examining him. He does his best not to cringe.

            “I think you’re right,” she says. He relaxes a little bit. “It’s something to narrow down the search at least. Email the tech guys and tell them to include that in the parameters when compiling the initial list.”

            He nods. They drive in silence for another few minutes.

            “Akira?”

            “What?” she says.

            “If there’s children, will we kill them, too?”

            Her expression is hard. “They’re monsters, Sasaki,” she says. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

#

            He deposits his briefcase back on the kitchen table and stands in the center of the apartment, breathing the filtered air, trying not to cry. He wants to fall apart and he has no idea why.

            His phone rings. He doesn’t check the caller ID before he answers, but he doesn’t know that many people. 

            “I’m sorry,” Arima says. “I know it’s late. But we need to have our meeting.”  

            “It’s okay.” He’s tired, his feet hurt from walking around so much, and he’s so very very hungry. He wants to shove the synthesized meat down his throat so it’ll at least abate the starvation.

            Arima’s office is a few floors down. He takes the stairs. Most of the lights are off, the CCG investigators heading home for the night. It’s after nine, and he doesn’t have long until he has to be safely back in his apartment. Arima’s at his desk, going through some kind of paperwork. Sasaki sits across from him. Arima blinks up at him, and adjusts his glasses, as awkward as ever.

            “How are you doing?” Arima asks quietly.

            “Good.” Sasaki does his best not to slouch. “I went to the corner store by myself today.”

            “Akira told me.”

            Of course she did. “Getting out was good. And I’m moving into my apartment better.”

            “You could get some posters. Make the place feel more like home.”

            “I guess. It doesn’t really belong to me.”

            “It _is_ temporary. But you’ll have your own place soon enough. As soon as you’re acclimatized.”

            Sasaki nods. Arima’s told him this before.  He wants to ask why Arima cares, but he knows that Arima feels a sense of personal responsibility over him. He was Arima’s claim, after all. Arima’s the one took care of the ghoul. Arima probably wants to be a responsible owner.

            “You went out on your first mission today.”         

            “Yeah.” Sasaki shifts in his seat slightly, but doesn’t fidget. He still feels sick in his stomach. Sick and wrong.

            “Are you okay, Sasaki?” Arima asks quietly.

            Sasaki sighs. “I guess. I don’t know. Maybe. I think I’m okay. But then – “

            “But then?”

            “I keep thinking of someone. I don’t even know who particularly. I get this flash of nostalgia, this weird sensation. Like there’s someone out there I need to look out for. And sometimes I think I see him.”

            “Him?”

            “Yeah. He has a pointed nose. Blond hair. That’s all I know.” Sasaki shakes his head. “I don’t know if my memories are coming back.”

            Arima doesn’t look alarmed. Maybe everything’s okay.

            “Does it feel like they’re coming back?” Arima says.

            “I don’t know. I have these nightmares, too. I’ve had nightmares ever since waking up. I’m in a very large room, and I’m tied to a chair, and I can’t move. I think something bad happened to me,” he says quietly. “Something really, really bad.”

            “Something really bad did happen to you.” Arima’s face is twisted in sympathy. “You became a one-eyed ghoul. You suffered impossible violence. It’s not surprising your brain remembers some of the trauma.”

            Sasaki nods. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s fine, really. I’m glad to be out with Akira. I think that’ll help. I – I don’t really know anyone. Except for you. And not even really you.”

            “You know me,” Arima says.

            They’re both very silent for a moment. Sasaki wants to smile, to say thank you, thank you for saving me, thank you for keeping me from being a monster, but his throat is closed shut, and it’s difficult enough to breathe. Finally, Arima says, “I’m trying to get your curfew eliminated. It’s unnecessarily and hindering. But for now, you have to get back.”

            Sasaki ducks his head. “Thank you. I’ll see you again soon.”

            Arima nods. “Sleep well, Sasaki.”

            . He’s fiddling with his keys in the lock when he hears someone behind him.

            He turns, and there are two investigators. They’re both about his age, but one is a very tall, very thin-looking man, and one is – well. He can’t tell what gender they are, but they’re small and bony, their eyes wide with curiosity, wearing bagging clothing and slippers instead of the uniform. He blinks back at them.

            “Can I help you?” he says.

            “You’re rank three investigator Haise Sasaki, right?” the smaller investigator says.

            He nods.

            The investigator reaches into their pockets, fiddles around, and comes up with a handful of bills. “For you,” they say. When Sasaki doesn’t react fast enough, they lean forward and slap the money into his hands.

            “This is first class investigator Hanbee Abara,” the investigator says. “I’m associate Special Class investigator  Suzuya Juuzou. You can just call me Juuzou.”

            Sasaki notes the male pronoun, and looks down at the money in his hands.

            “Um,” he says.

            “I’m sorry,” Juuzou says. “I thought I should give it to you.”

            “Okay,” Sasaki says.

            Hanbee rubs his temples. “I really have to get home,” he tells Juuzou.

            “Spoilsport.” Juuzou pats Hanbee affectionately on the shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turns back to Sasaki. “You live in apartment number three, right?”

            “What? Oh, right. Oh, you’re in number five.” He remembers all of a sudden.

Hanbee looks like the conversation is physically paining him. He nods at Juuzou one more time, and then he practically jogs down the hall, making his escape.

“Um,” Sasaki says again.

“So, can you get drunk?” Juuzou says.

“What?” Sasaki says. He’s still so tired, and he feels like the more he and Juuzou talk, the less sense the conversation makes.

“You know, being a ghoul and all,” Juuzou says.

Sasaki tenses. “I didn’t know it was common knowledge.”

“I know. A few others know. I’m associate special class, of course I know. So, can you?”

“I don’t know,” Sasaki says. “I’ve never tried it.”

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot. Human food is disgusting to ghouls, right? So it stands that alcohol should be disgusting to you too. But we also find alcohol disgusting, too. One second.”

He goes over to apartment five, and disappears. Sasaki isn’t sure if he’s supposed to follow him, but the time on his phone is 9:55. He heads into his apartment, shutting the door softly behind him. He’s still holding the money Juuzou gave him.

There’s a knock on the door. Juuzou’s holding up a murky glass bottle and grinning.

“Hello,” Sasaki says again. “Um. I have to stay in here. I have a curfew.”

“That’s okay, we won’t leave!” Juuzou puts the bottle on the table. “This is vodka. It’s really disgusting, even for humans. I figure if it’s gross enough for us, it might be okay for you to drink.” He goes over to the cupboards and pulls out two cups.  “Oh, and please tell me if I overstay my welcome. I’m not always good with social cues like that.”

Sasaki blinks at him, and then he feels himself smiling despite his exhaustion. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks. I appreciate your efforts.”

Juuzou grins at him, and slaps two plastic cups onto the kitchen table. “No problem. Like I said, I was curious.” He unscrews the bottle and pours two generous fingers into each cup. “You weren’t always a ghoul, right? You were born a human?”

“So they say,” Sasaki says.

“Did you ever do shots when you were a human?”

Sasaki shrugs. “I don’t know. Can’t remember.” He waits for the sympathy, for the look of confusion. But instead, Juuzou just nods seriously and says. “Okay, you gotta just tip it back all at once. In one go. Don’t let it in your mouth. Here, I’ll show you.” He picks up the cup and tosses back the vodka, swallows hard, then wipes his mouth, grinning at Sasaki. “Your turn.”

Sasaki looks down at his glass doubtfully. The liquid inside is clear, and looks like nothing more than water. He’s still holding the money Juuzou gave him. He puts it down on the table, and makes a mental note to ask Juuzou about it later.

He tries to throw back the vodka the same way Juuzou did, but it ends up sliding down his throat. He starts to cough and gag, his eyes filling with tears. His mouth and throat burn. He ends up sinking to the floor, crouched over and trying not to puke.

“Good hurt or bad hurt?” Juuzou demands, leaning over him. Sasaki shakes his head weakly, rocking back and forth. Juuzou pats his back comfortingly while he struggles to regain his breath again.

“You all right?” Juuzou says, when he manages to sit back and inhale.

“Hnghh,” Sasaki groans. He stands up, leaning against the counters.. “Alcohol isn’t supposed to do that, is it?”

“Maybe sometimes,” Juuzou says doubtfully. “Another shot?”

“I’ll pass,” Sasaki says. Juuzou laughs. “Well, don’t worry,” he says. “I brought backups.” He reaches into the pocket of his oversized coat and dangles a little plastic bag in front of Sasaki’s nose. “I wonder if marijuana will affect you, since we don’t eat it.”

“That’s illegal,” Sasaki says without hesitation.

“You don’t even officially exist. What are they gonna do, put you on trial?” Juuzou flounces over to the couch in the living room, and after a brief second, Sasaki follows him.

While the vodka sits uncomfortably in his stomach for the rest of the night, it turns out he can, in fact, get high. He and Juuzou pass Juuzou’s little ceramic pipe between them, fumbling with the lighter. Juuzou starts to giggle, and so Sasaki does, too.

“I knew it’d work,” Juuzou says, setting the pipe on the table with a sigh. “I’m a genius.” He pats Sasaki’s hand. “You’re welcome.”

Sasaki nods, quite seriously. “Thanks.” Then he starts to smile again. “Do you do this kind of thing a lot?”

“Mm. Every once in a while. I have, you know, a lot of stuff going on up here. Some of it’s okay, some of it’s the way I was born. But sometimes, I just can’t stop thinking about stuff, some things that I really don’t want to think about.” Juuzou tips his head at Sasaki. “I figured you were the same, that you could use a break.”

Sasaki shakes his head. Then he nods. “Thanks.”

Juuzou does another hit, passes the pipe to him. “Look at this,” he says, whipping out his cell phone. Sasaki expects Juuzou to show him important ghoul-related information, but instead Juuzou just pulls up a video of a cat getting stuck in a sink.

They watch cat videos in fascination for twenty more minutes, do a couple more hits. Then Juuzou says, “Fuck. I’m so hungry. I’ll be right back.” He leaves Sasaki on the couch.

Sasaki plays with his own phone for what feels like an hour, then stares up at the ceiling. His stomach is aching. He’s so hungry all of a sudden, it gnaws at his throat.

            He goes over to the fridge and pulls out one of the little tubes of synthesized meat, bites off the plastic end with his teeth. He’s supposed to eat these twice a day, but they’re disgusting and sometimes he only has one or none at all. Now, he rips into the synthesized meat, pushing the cold, congealed mush into his mouth, sucking it down hard. His stomach is still growling. He throws out the plastic and grabs for another tube.

            The door shutting makes him look up. Juuzou’s got a bag of rice cakes in one hand, a box of cookies in the other. He sets the cookies on the table and rips open the rice cakes. He and Sasaki make eye contact as Sasaki slowly sucks down the mushy tube. Juuzou chews on the rice cake, no fear in his eyes. Sasaki doesn’t think it’s stupidity, either. Juuzou’s an associate Special Class investigator, and even high he could probably kill him bare-handed.

            Sasaki puts down the empty plastic. Juuzou smells sweet and rich. He goes over to the sink and drinks cold water straight from the faucet.

            “You want to eat me, right?” Juuzou says casually. Sasaki turns to face him, wiping his mouth. They make eye contact again. Juuzou chews on another rice cake.

            “I’ve got it under control,” Sasaki says, after another moment.

            Juuzou nods. He sets down the rice cakes and heads over to the couch, picking up the pipe and lighter. “Over here,” he calls.

            Sasaki follows him, sits down next to him when he pats the couch. His head is throbbing, and his hands sweating. It’d be easy, the monster in him whispers.

            “I’m gonna show you something else. This is called shotgunning,” Juuzou says. He lights the pipe, inhales hard. Sasaki studies him, waiting. Then Juuzou reaches out and cups his cheek, running his thumbs over his jaw. Then he kisses Sasaki. Sasaki’s so surprised he doesn’t do anything to stop him. The taste of marijuana fills his mouth.

            Juuzou pulls back, and studies Sasaki’s eyes. “It’s how you share a hit,” he says. “You want to try?”

            Sasaki hesitates again, then nods. He lights the pipe and inhales. He’s nervous, his fingers curling and uncurling. He grips Juuzou’s wrist and kisses him.

            Their mouths slant together. It’s very warm, and very personal. He can feel Juuzou’s heart beating, can hear his blood rushing in his veins. His head still throbs. Juuzou bites his lip, sucks gently, pushes their lips together. Sasaki does his best to copy him. It is so very warm.

            Juuzou pulls back. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Just like that.”

            Their heads are dizzy with the drug; Sasaki feels good and mellow all over, and he never feels like this, not even when he’s asleep. Each sensation is electric, and amplified.

Sasaki is awkward, and Juuzou is eager and easily distracted. Eventually, they manage to work something out.

            When they are done, Juuzou pulls his boxers back on and lights a cigarette. He smokes intently, chewing his lip in between puffs.

            Sasaki pulls the sheet over his legs. They’ve ended up in his bedroom, and not bothered to turn on the lights. He has to squint to make out what Juuzou’s doing. “Alcohol, marijuana, and nicotine,” he says. “Is there anything you don’t do?”

            “They won’t give me Ritalin anymore,” Juuzou says without looking at him. “It kept me from eating enough. And I don’t like LSD.”

            Sasaki rubs his eyes. “Good to know.” The hunger still twists in his stomach, but the marijuana has dulled the urge to hunt and sate it. The room reeks; Juuzou smells strongly of sweat. The cigarette smoke dulls the scent of sex.

            “Are you alright?” he asks after another minute.

            Juuzou nods. He stubs out the cigarette on the nightstand, leaving a little burn mark. “Everyone thinks I’m strange,” he says. “But this is just the way I am.”

            “I know that. That’s not what I meant. I meant. Are you all right?” He watches Juuzou carefully. “You said you smoked weed when you couldn’t stop thinking of things you wanted to forget.”

            Juuzou nods. He doesn’t look at Sasaki. “I’m not thinking of them now,” he says. “It’s all right. Really.”

            Sasaki nods. “Okay.” They both wait.

            Juuzou leans back against the pillows, close enough for Sasaki to feel his body heat. “I’m tired,” he says. “Is it okay if I sleep here?”

            Sasaki nods, and says. “Yes.”

            “You’re not going to eat me in my sleep, right?”

            Sasaki cracks a smile. “No.”

            They wait again. Sasaki leans into the pillows next to Juuzou, and stares up at the ceiling.

            “It’s not like I have an issue with remembering things I don’t want to,” Sasaki says. “Since I don’t remember much at all. Sometimes I do in dreams, though. In the dreams, I’m being taken apart. Someone’s cutting my body up, slicing off my fingers and toes. It makes me wake up screaming. If you sleep here, I might have nightmares. I just want you to know that.”

            “Okay,” Juuzou says quietly.

            “I think something really bad happened to me,” Sasaki says. “I don’t want to remember it, either.”

            Juuzou rolls over, and grabs Sasaki’s wrist. They lie facing each other.

            “Don’t worry,” Juuzou murmurs. “I’ve got plenty of weed, and if that doesn’t work, we can always fuck again. You don’t have to remember.” His hands are very thin, and very cold. He doesn’t meet Sasaki’s gaze. “I have nightmares, too,” he says. “Just warning you.”

 

            #

 

A phone call from Akira wakes him up at 5AM. He groans, rolling over and faceplanting the pillow.

            The bed is empty except for him. His stomach twists when he realizes he’s alone in the bedroom. He sits up and answers the call.

            “What’s up?”

            “I want to get some headway on the case,” she says. “Will you meet me at my office in an hour?”

            He rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Sure. That sounds fine.”

            He takes a shower, cleaning the smell of Juuzou from his skin. Juuzou’s empty wrappers still litter the kitchen. He smiles to himself as he makes his morning coffee.

            Akira’s bent over the files from yesterday, a pen in one hand, a highlighter in her mouth. She hands him another stack of files, says, “Cross reference these with these-“ she holds up a printout, “and this.”

            He takes the papers. One of them is the list of names they got from the employers yesterday, the other is a list of all students enrolled in the three local elementary schools, and the last is a bunch of tenancy agreements in Higashi. He wonders when she got all of this.

            He gets to work, his thermos of coffee in between all the paperwork. Unfortunately, there are too many families with kids in Higashi. He wants to rule out two-parent households, since the killings feel like the work of a single ghoul, but they can’t be sure.

            “Wait,” he says, looking up. “There are some churches in Higashi, right? Do they keep a list of the people who visit them regularly? As religious as this ghoul is, there’s no way they wouldn’t be a faithful worshiper.”

            She blinks up at him, and smiles genuinely. “That’s a good idea.” It’s stupid, but his heart flutters a little at the slight praise. She gets on the phone, and an hour later both churches have faxed in their mailing list. Then Akira decides to ask for the list of people who receive donations from the church.

It’s a lot of information to go through, but when they go through all the data again, there are only fifteen names that show up on all or most of the lists. Akira leaves to get lunch from the cafeteria, and Sasaki calls the landlords and the current bosses. When she gets back with her tray of food, she joins him in making phone calls, forgetting about her meal.

They cross off names where the person had held down the job for more than a year, had lived in the apartment for more than two. Ghouls aren’t known for stability. Finally, when they’ve made all the phone calls they can think of, it’s late afternoon and they have a list of six people.

Akira runs her fingers through her bangs, sighing. “Hopefully one of these pans out. Otherwise we’ll have to go back through all the names again.” She stands up, shrugging her coat jacket on. “You ready to go?”

He blinks up at her, still bleary from the paperwork, and nods.

They carry their quinque briefcases with them, the way they’re supposed to whenever they leave on a mission. It’s even hotter today than yesterday, and Sasaki tugs at the collar of his shirt.

He made ice coffee for the both of them before they left. He sips at his cup as Akira starts up the car. A blast of A/C makes him close his eyes and sinks down into his seat.

“So you can have human beverages, huh,” Akira says casually as she drives. He opens his eyes. She doesn’t look at him as she talks, but her tight grip on the steering wheel betrays her. “Is it because you’re only part ghoul?”     

“I-“ His voice is raspy. “I don’t know. Arima told me I could drink the coffee. It’s the only human food I can have.”

She nods. “I guess that makes sense. We found some ghouls running a café once.”

“Really?” The idea makes the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Yeah.” She looks over at him. She seems angry all of a sudden, but he doesn’t think it’s directed at him, exactly. “The ghoul who killed my previous partner worked with them.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugs. “His name is Centipede. He’s still out there, somewhere. He’s a monster. A kakuja. You know what that is, right?”

“A ghoul who eats other ghouls.”

“That’s right.” She stares straight ahead at the road. “Someday, I’m gonna kill him.”

He can tell she’s trying to be casual about it, but her words go up a little at the end, and she’s biting her lip.

“I’ll help you,” he says.

She blinks at him, and smiles all of a sudden. It’s the third smile he’s ever earned out of her, and each one feels better than any award or promotion. “You’re a wide-eyed third-rank, what are you gonna do to a kakuja?”

“We’ll fight it together. We’re partners, after all,” he says, nonchalant. “I’m getting stronger, too.”

Her smile goes all soft. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

He’s so weak, so easy to please. He gets flustered and has to hold his hand over her mouth so she doesn’t see how his lip trembles.

            They pull up into a residential neighborhood. The streets here are so narrow Akira has to park the car up on the sidewalk. He gets out, and the wave of heat makes him gasp a little. The sun is blasting, the sidewalk shimmers with it. Laundry lines stretch between the jumbled-together houses. Someone left their bicycle leaned against their garage, but it’s rusted, the wheels stolen off. The streets are cracked, the asphalt torn up.

            “You still don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Akira says. “Just follow my lead.”

            He nods, focused on the house in front of them. According to the tax forms they managed to scrounge up, it belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Kimura and their six-year-old daughter, Mieko.

            Akira knocks on the door, and they wait. He grips the handle of his briefcase tightly, doing his best not to hyperventilate.

            After a moment, the door opens, and they find themselves staring down at a tiny little girl. She blinks up at them with wide eyes, a teddy bear clenched in one arm.

            “Hi,” Akira says. “Are you Kimura Mieko?”

            “Yeah,” Mieko says, her voice hushed. “Are you the police?”

            “No, we’re investigators. My name is Mado Akira, and this is Haise Sasaki. Can we talk to your parents?”

            “They’re not here. Dad’s at work.”

            Akira nods. “Can I talk to whoever’s watching you?”

            “I’m watching myself.” Mieko steps back. “If you’re investigators, I guess it’s okay if you investigate.”

            Akira and Sasaki share looks, and they follow her into the house. The place is even tinier on the inside than the outside, rickety furniture crammed into the living room. A russet hound is curled up on the couch, and the smell of dog makes Sasaki wrinkle his nose. There are dirty dishes in the living room, filling the sink, stacked on the kitchen counters. He crosses the Kimuras off the suspect list instantly.

            “Mieko, how often do your parents leave you alone?” Akira asks.

            “Pretty often. Dad needs to work a lot, and grandma’s always sick, so mom’s always helping her go to the hospital. It’s okay, though! I have Strawberry!” She goes over to the dog and pounces on it. It whines and rolls over, knocking the both of them onto the floor. She laughs in little hiccups, giggling as Strawberry starts to lick her face.

            Akira crouches down next to Mieko. “Hey,” she says. “We’re investigating some dangerous activity in the neighborhood. You don’t have anything to be afraid of, don’t worry. But if you see anything, or hear anything suspicious, here’s my card, okay?”

            Mieko takes it, nodding solemnly.

            “And if your parents leave you alone for too long, and you’re scared, you can call me, okay?”

            “Okay, Ms. Mado,” Mieko says. “Are you done investigating our house?”

            “For now.” Akira ruffles her hair, and stands up. “Tell your parents we were here, okay? And be more careful when you’re answering the door for strangers.”

            “It’s okay. If anyone tried to hurt me, Strawberry would get them!”

            The dog flops on top of the girl, drooling everywhere. Mieko seems happy enough with the weight on her, though, so they leave the apartment, shutting the door behind them.

            “Should we call someone? Tell someone her parents are being neglectful?” Sasaki says.

            Akira side-eyes him.

            “What?” he says.

            “I forget, you really don’t remember much at all, huh?” she says. “And you don’t know how this world works at all.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “We know from the forms that that the dad makes minimum wage. The mom has prior prostitution charges, so it’s possible she still makes money in that profession under the table. Regardless, they’re poor. They can’t afford to hire a babysitter. And they can’t afford to not work. Mieko’s survived so far.” She shakes her head. “You’re right, she shouldn’t be alone. But the alternative isn’t much better. She could be taken away from them, and who knows where she ends up then?”

            Sasaki swallows. “There should be something we can do.”

            “Yeah, there is.” She smiles, tightly. “We can stop the monster that’s killing people in this neighborhood. Make this place a little safer for her and the other kids like her. That’s all we can do, really. What’s the next address?”

            He pulls out his phone and shows her. It turns out the next suspect lives only a block and a half away. They walk, the sun pounding down on them.

            The next suspect is Tatsuyuki Kiyoko, a twenty-six year old waitress. Her tax records showed five different jobs in the past three years. According to the census, she has a nine-year-old boy in the grade school nearby. This is her fourth residence in the last five years, and it doesn’t look like the kind of place someone would willingly stay for long.

There’s an overflowing dumpster shoved up against the side of the apartment, and one of the windows is shattered, broken glass in their pathway as they walk up the front steps. The screen door is closed, but there are rips in it, and the curtain behind it flutters. The buzzer doesn’t work, so Akira just raps her fist against the side of the house.

There’s footsteps. “Can I help you?” someone says from the other side of the curtain.

“Akira Mado. Haise Sasaki. We’re hoping to ask you a couple questions.”

“I’m busy. Come back later.”

“We’re here now, Ms. Kiyoko.”

There’s silence on the other side of the door. Sasaki glances at Akira.

Something dark and red punches through the screen, slamming into Akira. She cries out as it drives her off the steps, slamming her back into the street. Sasaki starts for his briefcase, but then the thing is whipping into him, tearing a hole through his stomach.

His mind goes white for a moment, the shock so strong he can’t even feel pain. Then his brain begins to process what’s happened, and he starts to scream. The thing in his stomach pulses, then retracts.

He forces himself to open his eyes. The kagune attack left him on the pavement, his blood pooling around him. Akira’s in the street, not moving. There’s a lot of blood. A lot of red. His vision is blurry. He grits his teeth, doing his best not to scream again.

A skinny, pale woman in a waiter’s uniform is on the front steps, featherlike appendages bursting from her back. Her bare feet make no noise as she walks down the steps towards Akira. The three appendages move like snakes, hovering around her.

He’s still holding on his briefcase.

            He gets to his feet, and looks down at his stomach. Red muscle stitches together, his skin smoothing over the ragged edges of the wound.

            He draws his Quinque. Yukimura is warm in his hands. “Hey!” he tries. The blood in his mouth clogs his throat. “Hey!” he yells again.

            Kiyoko looks back at him. Her eyes are red. The kagune whips towards him, and he dances around it, twisting and almost going off balance. His wound is still closing, and the pain slows him down.

She manages to catch him in the arm, spearing straight through it and ripping through sinew. He slashes Yukimura through the appendage, separating the kagune in his arm. She yells, stumbling back, withdrawing her kagune.

He straightens, his wounded arm already healing. She takes it in coldly.

“Mama!”

A tiny kid is running from the house. Three or four, her hair in pigtails. “Mama!” she screams.

“Akane!” Kiyoko screams. “Nori! Get your sister!”

A nine-year-old boy follows the little girl from the house, scooping her up in his arms. He starts to run, and then Akira is on her feet and limping after them, dripping blood behind her. Sasaki hadn’t even realized she was conscious.

            Kiyoko screams again and sprints after Akira. Sasaki barrels into her, knocking her over. They tumble into the asphault, road rash tearing up over his skin. Her feathery Kagune curls around him and literally throws him into a house.

            He crashes through someone’s front door, ends up in a pile of rubble and plaster. If he were human it’d definitely have killed him.

Someone’s grabbing his arm and screaming. He opens his eyes, and startled faces stare back at him. He’s in someone’s living room.

He gets to his feet, still gripping his Quinque.

His legs are broken, misshapen lumps. They reform and straighten as he runs. His heart pounds in his throat.

He follows the blood trails.

Kiyoko is screaming, wordless mostly, saying, “ _don’t don’t, don’t”._ Akira has Amatsu out, the whip raised in preparation.  Nori’s cowering against the wall, Akane in his arms, tear tracks down his cheeks.

“I won’t hurt the kids!” Akira screams over Kiyoko’s mantra. “They haven’t killed anyone. They’ll go to Cochlea. Just no one do anything stupid, okay?”

Kiyoko shakes her head, her Kagune whipping around her. Sasaki steps forward, and she cranes her head back, making eye contact with him.

Akira takes the opportunity to lunge at Kiyoko, drawing Amatsu. The little boy, Nori, yells. A shiny Kagune bursts from his back, punching into Akira. She yells out, starts to go down, and manages to swipe him with Amatsu.

Kiyoko screams and lurches for Akira. Sasaki jumps into her, the two of them hitting the pavement. Akira and the kid are fighting, but it doesn’t last long. Akira’s very skilled, after all, and Nori is so very small.

Kiyoko is screaming wordlessly now, her kagune ripping through Sasaki’s skin. He screams back at her. She rolls out of his grasp and takes off running wildly.

“After her,” Akira snarls. Sasaki glances at back. She’s on her hands and knees, coughing blood.

He hesitates. “You’re-“

“Sasaki. Go after her.”          

The little girl, Akane, is leaning over her brother’s body, sobbing, her face streaked with blood. Sasaki hesitates, then nods.

It’s not difficult to find her. She’s heavily injured, limping, and he catches up after only a few blocks. She’s vomiting and crying in an alley, her shoulders shaking.

He leans against the wall, trying to catch his breath. She must hear him, but she doesn’t react to his presence.

“Kiyoko, give up,” he says. “Just give up. If you go quietly, they’ll hold you in Cochlea. You don’t have to die.”

She stands up, wiping her mouth. “What the _fuck_ are you?” she says.

            He says nothing. She looks him over. “You’re one of us, aren’t you?” she says quietly. “How could you work for them? How could you betray your own kind like that?”

            “I’m not one you,” he says. “I’m human.”

            Her lower lip curls. “Right,” she says. Then, “you killed my baby.”

            “Akira wouldn’t do it on purpose- she was defending herself-“

“You killed him,” she says, and her Kagune twists and slices at him.

He dodges, ducks, jumps. Leaps on top of a dumpster, pushes off a wall, flipping the sword through his hands. He manages to slice her a few times, but she’s fast, and she’s got nothing to loose.

She manages to wind her kagune around his wrist, and squeezes hard enough his bones crunch. He screams, dropping the quinque, fighting violently to get out of her grasp. She throws him into the wall, keeps her grip on him, smashes him into the pavement.

He doesn’t know exactly how it happens. There’s blood fogging his vision, and most of the bones in his body are broken. He’s making desperate little gasping noises. His lungs aren’t working properly. There are these- this – this thing. These _limbs_ coming out of his back.

He moves instinctually.

They roll and tumble, kicking up pavement, tearing into each other. Then all of a sudden Kiyoko’s on the ground, and he’s straddling her. His Kagune pins her in place, holding down her hands, pressing down on her chest. She’s coughing blood, her red eyes fogging up.

She’s saying something. He leans down to listen.

“. . .the lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. He maketh me to- “she coughs. “Lie down-“ she coughs again.

            “I never guessed a ghoul would be the religious type,” he says. “Did it make you feel better about all the people you killed?”

            She shakes her head.

            “What, you think because they were human they don’t matter?” he says fiercely.

            She shakes her head again. “M’ sorry,” she says, and her eyes well up with tears. “I was just so hungry. My children needed to eat. I’m sorry.” She’s whimpering by now. “I gave them – a good death. Clean. And I prayed for them. Every night.”

            “There were six people,” he says, and it’s difficult to speak. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

            She grasps at his hands, her fingers leaving bloody marks all over his wrists. “Will you pray for me, too?” she says.

            “I don’t know any prayers,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

            She smiles a little. “Look some up, then,” and then she leans her head back.

            It’s very quiet in the alley. He breathes deeply, the blood roaring in his ears.

            “Mr. Sasaki?”

            He cranes his head back, his heart pounding. Mieko’s at the mouth of the alley, her little fists bunched up. She walks nervously towards him, Strawberry on her heels.

            “What are you doing here?” he croaks.

            “I heard yelling.” Her eyes are wide. “What’s that stuff coming out of your back? Is she okay?”

            Her skin is tanned brown; he can see the blue blood vessels at her wrist. Strawberry growls, ears back.

            “She was a ghoul, Mieko,” he says quietly. “You’ve heard of ghouls, right?”

            “Yeah.” Her eyes are wide. “But is she okay?”

            His stomach twists. He’s lost so much blood, and it makes him dizzy, makes him weak. The hunger is roaring by now, pounding in his head. He licks his lips. He shakes his head. “Hey, Mieko. Can you go find my partner? Remember her, the blond lady?”

            “Ms. Mado.”

            “That’s right. She’s a few blocks that way.” He points. “Can you tell her where I am?”

            Mieko nods, and clicks for Strawberry to come. They disappear around a corner, but he can still hear her heart beating, still smell her delicate skin in the air.

            He sits there for a long moment, and then he retracts his Kagune from its grip around Kiyoko. It dissolves into his back. Her blood smells sour, her meat foul.

           He wets his finger in the blood on her cheek, touches it to his tongue. It’s disgusting, really. He swallows, bends over. Nuzzles her wounded chest, rubbing his face in the wound over her ribcage. She’s still warm.

            “Sasaki!”

            It’s Akira, and she’s shaking his shoulder. He almost lashes out at her. Her eyes are bright and wet. She’s in just a tank top and her uniform pants, and there are bandages all over her torso.

            “It’s over, Sasaki.” She smoothes a hand over his ruined uniform. “You did good.”

            There are a few other investigators in the alley, Quinques in hand. He guesses they were here for backup against Kiyoko, or maybe they’re for him, in case he got out of control. He sags into Akira.

            “Yeah,” she says. “It’s okay now. We can go home.”

                        #

            The CCG job pays well, well enough that it only takes Sasaki a few months to save up some money and move into an apartment. The place is cramped, one bedroom, a bathroom, and a kitchenette. The first night he’s there, the college kids in the unit next to his knock on his door, giggling drunk, and ask if he has any money. He’s pretty sure his other neighbor is a drug dealer.

            The next day, Juuzou and Hanbee come over and help him go shopping for furniture. Hanbee does most of the helping; Juuzou mostly just wants to jump on the bed spreads. They help him haul his stuff back to the apartment, and then Juuzou orders delivery food.

            He watches them eat, trying to act normal. Then Juuzou offers to get high with him. Much to Juuzou’s delight, they manage to coerce Hanbee into joining them. 

            Hanbee stumbles out at about ten PM to catch his train home. Sasaki and Juuzou do a few more hits, then have fumbling, sticky sex on the freshly-purchased mattress. Juuzou falls asleep soon after.

            Sasaki watches Juuzou’s chest rise up and down and wonders if he’s ever going to have sex sober. Probably not. He likes it enough, likes the way their skin slides together, likes Juuzou’s warmth and presence next to him in bed. But the build up makes him strangely anxious, and he’s awkward about it. He wonders if he was a virgin before he lost his memories.

            He eventually falls asleep, and dreams of Akane sobbing over her dead brother. He dreams of being strapped to a chair, his fingers being clipped off one by one. He dreams of a young man with blond hair and a broad smile.

            He wakes up, dripping sweat, gasping, and he thinks, “ _I’m sorry, Hide._ ” The image of the young man fades from his memory with the dream. He looks down, at the bracelet around his ankle, tracking his every movement.

            Juuzou’s snuggled up against him, and Sasaki’s erection is pressed against his ass. Sasaki’s fingers twitch with the phantom memory of being snipped off. The dissonance in sensation is so surreal that he rolls out of bed, fumbles for a t-shirt and boxers, and stumbles into the kitchenette.

            He makes a pot of decaf coffee, and pulls a couple tubes of the synthetic paste out of the freezer. He eats them then drinks the coffee by the window, curled up in his plastic chair. His phone is charging in the outlet next to the window.

            He takes it, and is overwhelmed with the strong urge to call someone, anyone, but there’s no one to call.

            He picks it up and googles “Philippians 4:8” the bible verse Kiyoko left in blood next to her last victim’s head, the prayer she left for the student before she killed her.

            _Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy- think about such things_.

            “What are you reading?”

            Juuzou stumbles into the kitchenette, rubbing his eyes. He’s wearing boxers and nothing else. His hair is a wild mess all over his face. He opens up the fridge and pulls out the leftover delivery food.

            “Bible verses,” Sasaki says.

            “What, you religious?”

            “Not particularly.” He snaps his phone shut and sits up properly as Juuzou drags a chair over to him.

            They sit in silence for a while, watching each other while Juuzou eats.

            “You had a nightmare,” Juuzou says. “I could tell.”

            Sasaki nods. Juuzou waits.

            “Most of my nightmares- they’re about being tortured. But sometimes- there’s someone from before that I can’t stop thinking about,” Sasaki says. “I don’t really remember much at all. But I remember him. He was blond, I think.”

            Juuzou nods, chewing intently.

            “I – we – me and Akira killed a kid. I mean. When we killed Tatsuyuki Kiyoko, The Priest Ghoul.”

            Juuzou puts the empty takeout box on the floor, and waits.

            Sasaki licks his lips. “I’m not really sure I can do this.  This. Investigation thing. Or this being human thing. I think I’m better off not pretending. Better off being a full ghoul.”

            Juuzou tips his head. “You’re not a full ghoul,” he says. “If you were a ghoul, I’d kill you.”

            Sasaki says nothing.

            “The kid was a ghoul, wasn’t it?” Juuzou says. “So it’s all good.”

            “Yeah,” Sasaki says. “I guess.”

            Juuzou takes Sasaki’s hand, turning it over, rubbing an index finger over his palms.

            “You were hurt badly before,” Juuzou says. “But you’ll be hurt badly again. It doesn’t matter if you’re a human or a ghoul.”

            “I know,” Sasaki says.

            It doesn’t matter if he’s hurt again. The nightmares about being tortured aren’t as bad about the dreams of the blond man. Those dreams make him sob into his pillow, make him lie awake for hours. He’s scared he’ll never remember him, he’ll never see him again.

            Hide. He holds onto the name, lets it sit on his tongue. Hide. I was in love before, he realizes. Oh, I was so desperately in love.

            Juuzou touches his shoulder. “You gonna come back to bed?” he says softly.

            “Yeah,” he says. “In a minute.”

            Juuzou kisses the corner of his mouth, then leaves the kitchen. Sasaki looks down at his phone again.

            _Whatever is pure, whatever is lovely- think about such things_.

            The student Kiyoko killed couldn’t think about such things anymore. She was dead and gone. Maybe Kiyoko only did it to survive, maybe she was sorry about it. It didn’t matter. Watanabe Haruka was still fucking dead.

            Sasaki wipes his mouth, his eyes. He drains the last of his coffee. He leans over the sink, thinks _I’m sorry, Hide_. _I’m sorry_.

            It doesn’t matter anymore.

            He follows Juuzou back to the bedroom, curls up beside him on the thin mattress. He lays awake in the dark, listening to Juuzou’s soft breathing, counting his heartbeats.

 

 


End file.
